James, James Bond

Bloody hell, said M, not the smooth and quiet one, the one who barked out orders to shoot her own agents, the one with (somewhat) warm eyes and more ferocity than all of the 00s combined.

When she fell, they all held their breaths.

007 is still holding that breath.

————-

After the Skyfall incident (not the official name of course, 007 would rip them apart for that), most MI6 employees avoided Bond. Hell, even Medical would hesitate to stop the man from walking out with critical wounds. The news would travel to Tanner, who would either send Moneypenny or go down to Medical himself. In worse case situations, M himself was forced to babysit 007 into resting.

On the first anniversary of Skyfall, 007 disappeared.

No one cared much; agents needed time alone, and in 007’s case, a lot of time. Everyone expected a few weeks of absence, and M ordered 006 to stand in for 007 (“Gladly.” Ever the loyal friend, 006).

M nearly spit his drink when 007 walked in on a Friday evening, looking rather satisfied and holding (bless my soul, thought M) paperwork.

“007.” Better put the drink down.

007 gave him a slight nod, before dropping off a stack of what seemed to be a combination of reports and equipment damage forms. “M.”

Still stunned, M asked tentatively, “Christmas, 007?”

A corner of 007’s lips twitched upwards, and he replied with, “Something like that. I was… well persuaded to complete some paperwork to keep the executives satisfied. Wouldn’t want Q Branch to stop supplying me with shiny new guns, do we?”

M hummed absently and waved a hand towards the door. “Have a good evening, agent.”

“Sir.” With that said, 007 sauntered out of M’s office, and smirked at an amused Moneypenny, who was on her way to report to M.

She handed a budget report to M, and was walking –escaping- to her desk outside when M called out from behind.

“Ms. Moneypenny?” Ah, shit.

“Yes, sir?”

“Why is there an authorization from Q Branch for a DB5 when none of our current or pending missions should ever require one?”

Swallowing slightly (this was M, after all), Moneypenny turned slowly and tried her best to not grin. “That, sir, you’ll have to ask Q directly.–“

“Here for reporting, sir.” Cutting in smoothly, Q strode into the room and walked past Moneypenny, stopping in front of M’s desk. “A week earlier, 007 broke into my flat for unknown reasons and triggered some of my traps for intruders. Luckily, I was already on my way home, and deactivated the alarms before any permanent damage was done. He had minor carbon dioxide poisoning and a handful of small burns on his hands. He may or may not have guilt-tripped me into the DB5.” As an afterthought, he added, “Sir.”

M sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning back in his soft office chair. “Let me get this straight: 007 is getting a shiny new toy because he nearly died breaking into your flat.” The what’s wrong with you lot was unsaid, but Q and Moneypenny, who was trying very hard not to laugh, heard it loud and clear.

Q suppressed a yawn and said, “Yes, that’s right, sir.”

M stared at both of them for a few, long moments before dragging a hand over his face. “Understood. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.” Moneypenny had her lips pressed tightly together while Q just snorted lightly under his breath.

They politely closed the door, but M could catch Tanner’s choked laughter before the door clicked shut, and the sound of Bond’s leather shoes clicked softly amongst the fading footsteps.

M put his head in his hands and sighed heavily (whining is unacceptable for someone like him, and this was MI6, someone could hear).

Her Majesty’s finest, they said.

———————————————————

Don’t ask, I don’t know how this came to life, but it just happened and I am definitely not going to be writing a series anytime soon. (Better take that DC story off before I get rage mail.)

Not beta’d at all, and unless there are any glaring errors, I’m probably not going to revisit this. (If there are errors, it could be the work of Windows RT’s autocorrect.)

I still prefer Judi Dench, but it makes me giggle every time when I think that Voldemort is head of MI6 now. Voldemort.

We are so fudged.

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